


A Restless Soul

by ConcentratedMatter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 05:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcentratedMatter/pseuds/ConcentratedMatter
Summary: Scanlan's first kiss, a coming-of-age story.Inspired by Sam’s throw-away line that ‘kissing a half-elf man’ was ‘teenage years, baby.’





	A Restless Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt on Tumblr that asked for either Nott's or Scanlan's first kiss.
> 
>  
> 
> So, the concept of Scanlan’s first kiss was a premise that immediately intrigued me because I never really thought about it before. Because, well… he’s Scanlan. Sometimes it feels like he materialized into Exandria fully sexualized. But he didn’t, of course. So it was fun exploring that more innocent part of his history. A character study, if you will.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this story was inspired by Sam’s throw-away line that ‘kissing a half-elf man’ was ‘teenage years, baby.’
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy.

 

\---

 

A passing cart splashed through a large puddle, sloshing water across Scanlan’s boots as he ducked out of its way. The lasts remnants of a passing rainstorm were giving way to blue skies and the city’s streets were gleaming; mist steaming off the cobblestones as they warmed up in the sunlight. Scanlan ignored the new stains to his boots, his focus entirely on the balding, well-dressed gentleman walking on the opposite sidewalk.

 

Making his way through the crowds, the man seemed somewhat harried trying to hurry his wife along. Decked out in a long, green coat, the plump woman was entirely too wrapped up in her own little world to notice her husband’s frustration. She wore a soft, kind smile and had  _ooh-_ ed and  _ah-_ ed at every window display, market-stall and stray cat the couple had come across for at least half a block. Scanlan knew this, because they were the reason he was crossing the street in the first place.

 

As man and gnome approached each other, Scanlan ducked low and removed his frayed, purple beret with a practiced flourish.

 

“Spare a coin, mister?” He asked, his voice pitched slightly higher to help create the impression of youthful naivety. The man gave him a quick a look - an expression Scanlan was sure he only spared for things he normally found underneath his boots - and angrily pushed past him.

 

“Out of my way,  _boy.”_

 

Scanlan quickly stepped aside, ducking even lower while clutching his beret to his chest. “Sorry, sir!”

 

His voice apologetic, he adopted a mournful expression. Like that of a kicked puppy.  He waited a beat and then - right on cue - looked up, locking eyes with the woman trailing behind her husband. Scanlan could feel actual tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.

 

He was pretty proud of himself.

 

“Oh,  _Harold._ He looks hungry. Can we not spare a few coins?” The woman said, turning towards her husband with a worried look. The man looked back, flustered.

 

“Agnes…”

 

Scanlan could see they were about to get into an argument, so he interjected;

 

“That’s okay, miss! It’s entirely my fault, I can see you are in quite the hurry and I should never have b-bothered such nice people.” He wiped at the corners of his eyes with the long, dirty sleeve of his tunic. “I’m sure I don’t know what I was thinking...”

 

He made as if to leave, but before stepping off the pavement he turned back towards the woman.

 

“Please don’t worry about me, miss. I’m quite sure I will be able to find some leftover bread behind the bakery tomorrow. The baker sometimes throws away perfectly good loaves, you see, only partially moulded!”

 

A subtle expression of horror flickered across the woman’s face and she cast a look at her husband, who was staring daggers at Scanlan. The gnome’s expression of solemn sincerity didn’t waver under this scrutiny.

 

“Agnes, please-” The husband began, trying to get his wife moving again. The large woman could not be budged, letting go of her husband’s hand as she started digging for her purse.

 

“ _No_. That’s it, Harold. I will not have this...  _child_ eat rotten foods and starve in a gutter somewhere!” She produced her purse and started counting out coins, her husband’s eyes boggling at the amount. A vein popped in his forehead.

 

Fidgeting with his beret, Scanlan stared down at his feet, afraid any look he might give the man might infuriate him further. Such things could tip the precarious situation into an entirely different direction.

 

“Here you go.” The woman said, her voice soft and caring as she held out her hand. Scanlan held up his beret, still avoiding eye-contact.

 

“You’re too kind, miss. Thank you very much-” As he felt the coins being deposited, he caught the flash of a golden sun on one of the woman’s rings. Without missing a beat, he added; “-Pelor’s blessing be upon you both!”

 

The man made a soft, disgusted noise. Maybe that last comment had been a bit much, Scanlan admitted. But he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

 

Bowing, he stepped off the pavement and spun around to hurry back across the street. Clutching his beret to his chest, he weaved through the crowd of people on the other sidewalk. He walked past a couple of blacksmiths before ducking into a shaded alleyway. As the sounds of the city fell away, he found a hiding spot behind a couple of stacked beer barrels. Finally feeling secure, he opened his hands and looked at his prize.

 

There was gold in there. More than one coin.

 

Scanlan’s heart hammered inside his chest. There was enough here to pay for at least a week worth of lodging at the Silver Heron. It was a lot more than he had expected.

 

Eyeing his spoils in wonderment, his reverie was interrupted by a long, low whistle behind him. He froze.

 

“That’s a nice sum you got.” A girl’s voice whispered in his ear. Recognizing the voice, Scanlan felt relief wash over him. He quickly pocketed the money before turning around with a forced smile.

 

“I do my best.” He replied, eyeing the girl leaning over his shoulder. A human child, she was a couple of years younger than him, probably around 13-14 years old. She was crouching low on one of the barrels, wearing a ragged grey dress and green stockings. She had in all likelihood dropped down from one of the roofs above and snuck up on him, quiet as a mouse. Which was why it was her nickname.

 

“You know Aron is going to beat the shit out of you if he finds out you’ve been scamming on his turf.” She pointed out, dangling her legs off the large oak barrel, using a dirty fingernail to pick out something between her teeth.

 

“True…,” Scanlan eyed her briefly, then rummaged in his pockets and flipped her a silvered coin. Eyes sharp as a hawk, the girl snatched the coin from the air before it had got a chance to complete its arc. “Which is why... he’s not going to find out now, is he?”

 

“Hm.” She pocketed the coin and silently watched him as he fixed his beret. Scanlan wiped some dirt from his tunic and looked down at his feet. Not much to be done about his boots, for now.

 

“You off to that silly tavern of yours, then?” She asked as he started moving towards the street. He deemed the question not worthy of an answer, until she called after him; “I don’t know why you like that place so much.”

 

Scanlan stopped and let out a heavy sigh. “I like it, because there’s music.”

 

“Lots of places got music.”

 

Scanlan grit his teeth. “No... Many places have an idiot with a flute making some noise.”

 

He thought about the Silver Heron. The tall, leaded windows. The pipe-smoke filled hallways lit up with silver sconces. The shining, oak bannisters of the second-floor balcony, which looked out onto the crowded barroom below. The diverse cast of patrons - drinking, laughing - all listening to the single minstrell, alone up on the narrow crescent-shaped stage. He turned towards the girl, smiling:

 

“This place has got  _music_ , Mouse.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him.

 

\---

 

The small barroom was rowdy, every inch of the tavern packed with people enjoying an evening of drinks and entertainment. Dodging between individuals thrice his size, Scanlan had to do his best not to get squashed or trampled by throngs of people trying to get another beer at the bar. His head was spinning with sounds and songs and,  _music_.

 

Earlier in the evening he had found a tiny spot up on the balcony, his small frame making it easy to watch through the carved wooden posts supporting the balustrade. He had spent the better part of three hours watching assorted musicians take center stage down below. A beautiful black-haired woman had sang a mournful song of tragedy and lost love in the Dunrock Mountains while Scanlan observed young men weep; a young Half-elf man had played a long ballad of an old sailor lost on the Ozmit sea, weaving words so playfully Scanlan had felt like he was there among the waves; and three dwarven brothers had played joyful, traditional dwarven tunes which had gotten half the patrons up and dancing.

 

Thirsty, Scanlan had left his spot to acquire some drinks while down below a young lady with a fiddle had started up a cheerful melody. Halfway down the stairs he spotted his chance when a large tray carried by a sturdy barmaid bounced past him just within arm’s reach. Reaching past the bannisters, he swiped a large tankard of ale while throwing down a few coppers on her tray in payment. Shouldering his way back upstairs he protected his drink from the careless elbows and staggering legs of drunk patrons. As he was about to set down the tankard on the floor to retake his spot, a large meaty hand shot out and grabbed his right arm, jerking him backwards.

 

“Oi!” Scanlan shouted, splashing ale over half his tunic. A large, middle-aged man was standing over him, a scraggly ginger beard doing a poor job at hiding his double chin and red, bulging cheeks.

 

“What do you think you’re doing, street rat?” He bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. Scanlan flinched, shrinking back towards the wall.

 

“I paid for it!” He replied immediately, his voice not so much defiant as tinged with panic. He winced at the sound and took a second to compose himself. Looking up, he met the man’s gaze with renewed confidence.  “I paid for it fair and square.”

 

“Hrmpf,” The man straightened up, eyeing Scanlan with a suspicious look on his face. But Scanlan’s now calm demeanour seemed to settle him down somewhat. The man crossed his arms.

 

“You’ve had your fun, boy. Time to go. We ain’t in the habit of entertaining every hoodlum wanting to spent an evening ogling young women.”

 

Scanlan put his hands on his hips, cocking his head. “But apparently this business is in the habit of throwing out paying customers willy-nilly? Seems like a bad investment.”

 

“Guests only.” The man rumbled, reaching out to grab Scanlan’s vest - but seeing the move coming the small gnome danced out of the way.

 

“Well, you’re in luck! I’m a guest,” He grinned, and quickly produced a handful of gold coins. “And I can pay.”

 

The man glared at the coins. “You a thieving scoundrel as well, then? We don’t take no stolen money.”

 

Scanlan felt a wave of annoyance flare up inside of him. “I’ve never stolen a damn thing in my entire life.” He spat back, glaring at the man.

 

“Oh, come on, Fabien, let the boy be. He appreciates the music, which is more than I can say for half the people here.”

 

Scanlan peered past the innkeeper to see who had spoken up, and noticed a youthful Half-elf leaning against the wall next to the stairs. The young man had short, curly brown hair and wore a simple blue tunic with a white vest. Scanlan recognized him by the well-worn intricately carved lute slung across his shoulder. It was one of the minstrels who had played earlier.

 

The young man pushed off against the wall and shrugged, giving the innkeeper with an amused look. “And he’s got a point, when are we in a habit of turning away paying guests?”

 

Locking his sharp green eyes with Scanlan’s, he added; “I’ll vouch for him.”

 

The taller man - Fabien - grunted and looked between the young Half-elf and Scanlan, conflict playing out on his face. After a long pause, he finally seemed to come to a decision and swiped Scanlan’s gold from his hands. As he turned, he gave the younger Half-elf a look. Mumbling something about it being ‘your funeral’, the man marched down the stairs.

 

Scanlan, surprised by the entire turn of events, leaned over the balustrade to follow where the innkeeper was going with his gold. Wading through a group of customers, the man approached the bar and had a brief conversation with a stocky, short-haired woman behind the counter. She ducked down and then offered the man a large, brass key. A room key. Scanlan grinned and turned back towards the young minstrell.

 

“Thanks.”

 

The Half-elf nodded, giving Scanlan a curious, inquisitive look. “I’ve seen you in here before, right?”

 

Scanlan fidgeted with his vest, giving the Half-elf an apologetic grin. “Oh no, you caught me.”

“Well, try not to enjoy yourself too hard, or you might get me in trouble.” The Half-elf said, eyes twinkling as he readjusted the lute hanging from his shoulder.

 

Scanlan put a hand over his heart, giving the young man a severe, solemn look. “I swear it upon my honour as a hoodlum.” He said, echoing the phrase the innkeeper had used.

 

The Half-elf chuckled, shaking his head as he ascended the stairs, leaving Scanlan behind to enjoy the rest of his evening.

 

\--

 

Three days Scanlan spent inside a small, narrow room near the roof of the Silver Heron. Obviously a former servant’s quarters, it was right above the kitchen and smelled like a curious mixture of grease and ale at all hours. A small, round window opened up to the roof outside, limiting his view of the city - but Scanlan had discovered he could  _just_ see the top of the Market Street’s bell tower over the roof of the building across when he was lying down on his straw bed at night.

 

He didn’t mind the cramped quarters. There was a roof over his head, dry floorboards underneath his feet and hot food waiting for him every morning. During the day he roamed the city; singing at the corner of Garden Square for passersby, or carefully scouting out the affluent Temple district for better opportunities. At night he came back, found a seat up on the balcony, ate warm stew and drank amber ale while listening to a string of musicians play. Not all were of an equal skill level - but in Scanlan’s view all were good.

And although they had not spoken since that first night, every evening the Half-elf had played, strumming his instrument with deft fingers, weaving such finely crafted melodies. Studying him on stage, Scanlan had judged the young man to be not much older than himself. He wondered where the elf had learned to play like that at such a young age.

 

Counting his earnings of the day, feet dangling from the balcony, Scanlan knew he should be more careful with his spending. He could probably find much cheaper lodgings at one of the almshouses on the other side of town, squirreling away the money for a rainy day. But he never had such a windfall before... and living at the Silver Heron was nice. He wanted to stretch the days and not think about the future at all.

 

It was like living in a dream.

 

“I heard you sing today.” A familiar voice spoke up. Scanlan froze with his tankard halfway to his lips, looking up towards the source. The Half-elf, leaning next to him against the balcony, laughed when he saw Scanlan’s expression change. The gnome lowered his drink and scrambled to his feet, absentmindedly straightening out some creases in his dirty vest as he did so.

 

“You-” Scanlan’s voice pitched up, and he cleared his throat, “You eh, followed me?”

 

The young man nodded and raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

 

“Ehm. Thanks.” Scanlan was at a loss of words. Which is something that didn’t happen often. He gestured at the Half-elf’s lute, searching for something to say in reply. “You... play well.”

 

He winced.

 

The Half-elf seemed amused at his discomfort, folding his arms. “So, haven’t stolen anything yet then?”

 

Scanlan frowned. “I don’t steal things.”

 

“No, you sing for your supper. Like us.” The Half-elf nodded towards the stage and then, turning back, held out his hand in greeting. “I didn’t introduce myself before, it’s Edym. But most people around here just call me Ed.”

 

Scanlan took the offered hand and shook it. “Scanlan.”

 

Softening his grip, Edym clasped Scanlan’s hand with both of his and turned it palm upwards. He rubbed his thumb over the callouses on the younger man’s fingers. Taken aback, Scanlan studied Edym’s face for some insight into the young man’s thoughts. The Half-elf had a curious expression on his face.

 

“You play?”

 

Scanlan pulled back his hand, a soft pang of regret in his chest. Hesitating, he gave a sad smile. “I used to.”

 

“What happened?” Edym asked, frowning. Scanlan bent down to pick up his ale and took a long swig before answering. He could feel the cold liquid traveling down his throat, settling down deep down in the twisted pit of his stomach.

 

“Someone took my lute.” His voice only wavered slightly.

 

“That’s a grave offense.” Edym said, his voice sounding solemn. As Scanlan turned his head to meet the young man’s gaze, he saw understanding in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

Scanlan shrugged, staring into the dark, amber liquid inside his tankard. “Not your fault. And I…” He hesitated. “I wasn’t much good anyway.”

 

He turned around, looking out over the room down below. An older man was playing a shawm up on the stage, but half his audience had gotten distracted. Conversations and laughs drifted up towards the balcony, mingling with the music.

 

“I mean, not like you.” Scanlan added.

 

“Well,” Edym turned to lean on the balustrade as well. “I was blessed with a good tutor.” Scanlan could feel the man’s eyes on him as a silence settled between them. Then, carefully, the young man prodded; “Who taught you?”

 

Scanlan bit his lip. It was not something he usually openly shared. But for some reason, here in this moment, he swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “My mother used to play when I was young. I guess I picked it up from her.”

 

“Hm.” Edym answered, but didn’t pry any further and Scanlan felt thankful for that.

 

Their conversation was interrupted when their attention was drawn by muted applause from below, the man with the shawm bowing and leaving the stage. No sooner had he left when a red Tiefling woman in a long, flowy white dress appeared, slowly walking out onto the podium next. She carried with her a beautifully decorated lyre and sat down on a simple, wooden stool in the middle of the stage.

 

As she played her first few notes, a hush descended on the crowd.

 

 _Like magic_ , Scanlan thought.

 

\---

 

Afterwards, lying on his bed staring up at the slanted wooden roof, Scanlan couldn’t even remember what the woman had sang about. His head was swimming with melodies and an inexplicable soulful yearning for a place beyond the city; divine nature untouched by humanoid hands.

 

He thought about Edym. And about their conversation.

 

After the performance, they had shared a drink and a few more words. Edym had let him play a few songs on his lute, although Scanlan had found it difficult to judge what the Half-elf thought of his skill level. After he had nervously returned the instrument, Edym had simply grown quiet, finished his drink and bid him goodnight.

 

He wondered what it was like, to live a life like his. To have people adore the stories you weave, to be able to enchant a room with the songs you spin with just the power of your words and the help of an instrument.

It seemed a far-off fantasy, at least for a street rat like him.

 

He fell asleep and dreamt about his mother.

 

\--

 

The next day brought rain. Scanlan spent most of the morning outside, sloughing underneath the awnings of a butcher’s shop, waiting for a break in the weather so he could find a place with better foot traffic. By lunchtime, when the rain gave no signs of abating, he decided to simply call it quits and return to the inn.

 

Afternoons were cozy at the Silver Heron. There were two great fireplaces in the barroom below, and ample people coming and going, looking for rooms and lodging or a place to dry out their clothes while getting something warm and tasty to fill their bellies. There was even a shelf of books; all well-read and thumbed-through, some almost falling apart the seams. But they were free, and Scanlan didn’t get many chances to curl up by a fire and just read. He had learned that skill from his mother, and it was something he was thankful for every day out on the streets.

 

Fabien had given him some suspicious glances while cleaning the bar, perhaps half expecting him to run off with the entire collection of tomes. But all in all, the large innkeeper had eased off him somewhat, perhaps coming to accept Scanlan’s presence among his guests.

 

“So, now you read as well.” Edym spoke up behind him.

 

Scanlan looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of the Half-elf. Catching the young man’s eyes, Scanlan found them to have an unreadable expression.

 

Edym leaned his lute against the large chair Scanlan had made his new home, and then shrugged off his coat, placing it on the chair beside him.

 

“Singing, lute playing, reading... Any other skills you are hiding?” Edym sat down opposite of him, holding a glass of mulled wine.

 

“Hmm, I’m a multi-layered onion of surprises.” Scanlan replied grinning, the words leaving his mouth before he could reel them in.

 

Edym didn’t reply, but just drank slowly from the wine. Scanlan felt fidgety under the young man’s scrutiny, remembering his reaction - or lack thereof - to his lute playing the night before. As the silence dragged on, he tried to focus on his book instead.

 

Edym put down his glass on the table and finally spoke up; “What’s a boy like you doing living on the streets?”

 

Scanlan tightened his grip on the book in his hands, nails digging into the soft leather. “I’m not a  _boy_.” He frowned at Edym. “I’m not much younger than you.”

 

Edym sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not calling you a child, Scanlan. I’m asking why you’re singing on street corners for people who don’t appreciate it, spending money you don’t have on ale and lodgings at a second-rate inn in a city that doesn’t want you.”

 

Scanlan felt like he had been slapped in his face. Shame bubbled up inside him, making his throat itch. He sunk lower into his chair - an easy feat to accomplish as its massive form was already dwarfing him. Hiding his face in the book he was reading, his mind raced for a reply.

 

“Why do you care, Elf boy?”

 

“Hm… polite professional curiosity.” There was a slight cheeky tone to Edym’s reply, and Scanlan couldn’t help peeking over the top of his book to glower at the Half-elf. A stubborn sort of rebelliousness welled up inside of him.

 

“Not everyone can be so lucky to have a good paying job at a nice inn playing songs for drunks.” He scoffed, studying Edym for a reaction.

 

Edym frowned at him. “That’s not what I mean.”

 

Scanlan lowered his book, annoyed at the response. He crossed his arms and gave the musician a mirthless smile.  

 

“Then please enlighten me, oh wise one.” Glaring at Edym, he could hear a downdraft in the fireplace behind him, spitting up embers. He ignored it, but noticed the Half-elf’s eyes briefly travel towards the fire.

 

“Hm.” Edym looked back at Scanlan, carefully considering him. For a brief moment it appeared he was going to answer his question, but then thought better of it. He pushed himself up out of the chair, leaning forward to grab his lute.

 

“Come on, I want to show you something.” He said, and gave Scanlan a quick wink before turning around and leaving towards the kitchens.

 

Scanlan, still sitting in his chair with his arms crossed, waited stubbornly for Edym to cross the room.  _That guy thought he knew everything._

 

As the Half-elf was about to leave his field of vision, Scanlan rolled his eyes and jumped out of the chair with an annoyed sigh.

 

“This better be good.”

 

\---

 

The ‘something’ Edym had wanted to show him was not so much a  _thing_ as multiple  _someones_. In the space behind the kitchen was a corridor leading to a backstage area and a large dressing room. Or perhaps ‘secret bar’ was more apt.

 

In the middle of the chamber was a large round table. Sitting at it there were multiple people playing cards, some of which Scanlan recognized as musicians he had seen perform before. Lit up by wall sconces and a large hearth to the right of the door, the room was cast in a warm, dancing glow. There were costumes hanging from a web of clotheslines crisscrossing the ceiling, and instruments everywhere people were sitting; Lutes, viols, flutes.

 

In the corner, at the beer-stained counter, a half-orc was playing a playful diddy on a fiddle. Next to him, a stocky dwarf was shouting at a barmaid, who apparently had brought him the wrong drink. Weaving between the tables, a half-naked woman was running around asking whether anyone had seen her headdress.

 

An older gentleman - the shawm player Scanlan recognized suddenly - stood up triumphantly from the large table and shouted “Ah-ha! Pay up, ye bastards!”. He threw down a hand of cards. Various groans from the other people at the table announced their defeat.

 

Standing in the doorway, Scanlan felt a slender hand upon his shoulder. Turning, he saw the Tiefling lyre-player leaning down towards him, her breathe hot against his right ear.

 

“I see Ed has brought us some new meat.” Her voice was soft was playful, and Scanlan felt a tingling sensation in the back of his neck.

 

“Ehm…” He mumbled, trying to discern the meaning of her words as she pushed past him. She sat down at the table and padded the chair next to her.

 

“You play, love?”  

 

Edym stepped forward, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Now, now. Be kind to him will you, Ariane?”

 

The Tiefling leaned her chin on her hand and pouted. “I’m always kind, Ed.” Sitting behind her, Scanlan could see a red-haired halfling woman catch his eye, slowly shaking her head in warning.

 

Edym stepped back around him and patted him on the shoulder. “Everyone, this is Scanlan! He wants to be a musician.”

 

Scanlan could feel his cheeks burning as everyone turned towards him. Various excited greetings flew his way, but he caught at least one cheeky; “Eh, your loss”.

 

In the hubbub of noise and activity, he frowned up at Edym.

 

“I never actually said I wanted to be a musician.” He hissed between gritted teeth, unsure about the situation.

 

“You didn’t have to.” Edym replied. Scanlan shook his head at him and looked around. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. He felt... vulnerable.

 

A large hand slapped him on his back, and one of the dwarves shoved a tall tankard of ale in his hands.

 

“A musician huh? You sure about that, laddie?” The dwarf grinned at him, his beard so wild and bushy some of its hairs pricked Scanlan in the side of his face. The gnome cast a helpless look at Edym as he felt himself get pulled away.

 

Edym just grinned at him.

 

\---  

 

For three hours Scanlan was guided around the room in a whirlwind of introductions and conversations, getting to know some of Edym’s colleagues a little bit more personal than he had intended to. He had learned to play at least two card games he didn’t even know existed, and had heard some interesting stories about the tavern - although none he dared to repeat among politer company. He had also discovered why shawm players were apparently the world’s best lovers.

 

Musicians, he decided, were not a shy bunch.

 

When he finally managed to extract himself from a particularly rowdy conversation - ears still burning - he quickly scanned the room. He found Edym in a corner, sitting on a bench while carefully tuning his lute. In the soft flicker of the candlelight, he was hard to spot among the revelry of his fellow colleagues. Like a moon caught in a planet’s gravity, Scanlan felt himself pulled back towards the only person he felt could save him from all this insanity.  

 

“Are these people all playing tonight?” He asked, trying to steady his sloshing beer as he sat down next to the Half-elf. As Edym looked up from his lute, Scanlan noticed the room was spinning a little. He might have had more than a little to drink, but he couldn’t exactly remember how much since different people had kept putting new drinks in his hands before he had the chance to finish the previous one.

 

“Nah. Half of them come here just to hang out.” Edym replied, nodding towards an older lady applying makeup at the small table in the corner. “Some of them aren’t even musicians. Actors. Dancers.” Scanlan felt himself staring into the crowd, trying to pick out who was who. This place was ridiculous, like a secret society of artists no one knew about.

 

Edym played a few notes on the lute, listening and adjusting the strings. Noticing Scanlan’s puzzled look, he folded his arms and leaned on his instrument, grinning. “Fabien allows it because we bring in patrons when we play, and, well, back here we almost match his customers out there drink for drink.”

 

“So, you do this every night?” Scanlan said, looking at the Half-elf in astonishment. “This is… amazing.”

 

Edym shrugged, his grin fading. “I mean, if that’s what you want.” He turned his lute over, picking at the strings as if lost in thought. “It’s… not exactly the word I would use.”

 

Scanlan gave him a dumbfounded stare. “Are you kidding? You get to play your music every night for an audience who actually likes you. You get paid. You get food and a warm roof over your head.”

 

Edym frowned at him. “You make it sound like those are the only things in life worth pursuing.”

 

“Aren’t they?”

 

Edym leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing as he considered the gnome next to him. “I’m not sure. But I didn’t expect you to be that easily taken in by the razzle-dazzle, Scanlan.” 

 

He paused, and then scanned the room. 

 

“All of this,” He gestured around, “It’s… superfluous.”

 

Taken aback by Edym’s attitude, Scanlan remembered the question he had asked that afternoon; what was a boy like him doing living on the streets?

 

_ Some of us don’t really have a choice, asshole. _

 

“This might not be much to someone like you, Edym. But it is to me.” Scanlan bit back, downing the rest of his beer in one go.

 

“Yes, you’re having fun now. But… I don’t think this place is really meant for you.” Edym said, looking at the gnome with a curious expression on his face. 

 

Scanlan stood up abruptly, the earlier shame and anger returning. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

 

_ Did Edym think he wasn’t good enough for this place? _

 

Edym looked at him, hesitating, but didn’t reply. Scanlan bit his lip in annoyance and turned his back on the Half-elf.

 

Walking away, he felt a strong desire to enjoy the heck out of all the things Edym had ever deemed superfluous.

 

\---

 

The morning after brought back only wisps of memories of the night before, in addition to a pounding headache which only partially cleared up after Scanlan managed to drag himself out of bed and get some breakfast down at the bar. He didn’t see Edym that morning, and instead spent the better part of the day trying out different busking spots in the city.

 

He had counted his funds after breakfast, and that had sobered him right up.

 

The afternoon brought a chill to the weather, but he found a nice spot between two high-end tailors that seemed it might provide him with a pretty penny. By that time, however, most of the day had already been spent scouting, and when the street lamps were getting lit, Scanlan reluctantly packed up. As he made his way back to the Silver Heron, he was able to count that day’s earnings on one hand.

 

That evening he found himself backstage again. Most of the musicians welcomed him back with equal enthusiasm as the night before. Scanlan eased up on the ale that night, not in the least because he found that this time around, he was expected to contribute towards his own drinks.

 

Late in the evening he briefly caught a glimpse of Edym as he entered the dressing room to change his outfit. But just as soon as he arrived, he was gone again. Having failed to catch the Half-elf’s eye, Scanlan just leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink and thinking.

 

“Edym doesn’t seem to spend as much time here as some of you.” He pointed out, trying to keep his tone neutral.

 

“Hm.” The older halfling woman - Ronda - replied, not looking up from her hand of cards. As no further comment seemed forthcoming, Scanlan pushed a little harder.

 

“So... what’s his story anyway?”

 

Ronda cast him a look, scratching her pointed chin. “Ed? He just shows up, he plays, he goes.”

 

Scanlan frowned at her. “And… where does he go?”

 

“Who cares!” Shouted the shawm-player - Bret - from the other side of the table, aggressively putting down a handful of cards and fixing him with an expectant look. Scanlan, distracted, had entirely forgotten which game they were playing. He picked a random card from his hand and put it down. Ronda started picking up his cards from the table, shaking her head at him.

 

“Nobody knows. That boy’s got a restless soul.” Ronda said and started counting out money for Bret, who had somehow won the round. As she counted, her sharp brown eyes fixed Scanlan’s with a piercing look. “There ain’t ever come anything good from ‘aving a restless soul. We have it good here, and you should remember that, boy.”

 

“... Okay.” Scanlan replied, slightly unsettled. A hush descended on the table, and Scanlan felt like he was missing something. But Ronda’s tone of voice had suggested that any further conversation would proof fruitless, so he just slowly took a sip from his drink instead.

 

A restless soul? What was that supposed to mean.

 

Frustrated that he had not gotten any wiser from the conversation, he spent the next few minutes impatiently finishing his hand before excusing himself from the table. He could feel Ronda’s eyes on his back as he dodged another encounter with the dwarven brothers who were calling out to him from another table. Instead, he made his way to the door and back out into the tavern proper.

 

Back among the normal patrons, he elbowed his way through the busy barroom, looking for a sign of Edym. Moving past a large Dragonborn, he thought he spotted the young Half-elf pass by on the other side, but when Scanlan turned around there was nobody.

 

A drunken young man stumbled into him, using Scanlan's head to catch his balance. Scanlan cursed under his breath, pushing the man’s hands off him. Catching his beret from falling off his head, he sighed and gave up his search, shouldering through the crowd to make his way upstairs. When he found his usual hiding spot along the balcony still empty, he sat down for a better vantage point over the room.

 

If he was completely honest with himself, he knew that although the backstage area was interesting, the actual magic was out here. Even if he was being used as a elbow rest by some of the patrons. It was the atmosphere. Electric.

 

He spent a few moments soaking in the sights and sounds. Invisible. Alone. Like a rat among the rafters, waiting.

 

It wasn’t long before the current musician finished his set and, just as Scanlan had expected, Edym appeared to the side of the stage, quickly bouncing up the wooden steps of the platform to take over. His hair was a curly mess and he had on a different outfit this time; darker with more muted colours. Sitting down, it instantly made his lute stand out against the firelight, blazing red, while he himself almost blended in with the background.

 

Not waiting for the audience to settle down, Edym’s fingers danced across the strings of his lute, launching into a polyphonic fantasia. As the Half-elf slowly increased the tempo, he started singing, and it wasn’t long before Scanlan begrudgingly found himself lost in the young man's voice.

 

To him it seemed like Edym applied verses to a song like paint to a canvas, conjuring up a tale about the cradle of creation and the founding of the Dawn City,  _Vasselheim_. His poetry made the city sound like an unreal, divine place, far removed from the view of mere mortal men.

 

It might as well be, Scanlan thought, staring at his dirty boots dangling from the balcony. He was quite sure he’d never get the chance to see it.

 

Sitting on the ledge, he pondered the Half-elf down below. Edym had a commanding sort of presence on stage, like he had grown more mature before their very eyes. He was clearly one of the more talented musicians up on that stage every night - and the audience knew it, too, hanging onto his every word.

 

He had called this place a second-rate inn, Scanlan remembered. If life at the Silver Heron was such a burden to him, why was he still here? It seemed like a perfect fairy tale to Scanlan, but… something gnawed at him.

 

_Superfluous._

 

Distracted, he almost didn’t notice when the Half-elf bowed and took his leave, Scanlan kept sitting at the ledge and observed the people down below. Like a spell broken, he noticed all the different, small sounds rushing back into the room. Interrupted conversation restarting, laughing, the sounds of glasses. A younger human girl with a dulcimer appeared on stage; the last musician of the night.

 

Her music proved a simple distraction as Scanlan remained, thoughts churning.

 

The hour eventually growing late, the crowd was thinning, with the majority of those staying behind either mostly drunk or preoccupied with pursuing more carnal interests. It was like watching a play, where none of the audience realized they were actually the actors.

 

Fabien loudly announced last call, and Scanlan finished his drink and got up to head to bed.

 

\---

 

Trailing his hand along the wooden panelling of the corridor towards to his room, he wondered how long before he would have to spend a night out in the rain again, if he didn’t start saving money soon. A week?

 

A few days?

 

Turning the corner, he had come upon the narrow door to his room, and he started fumbling for his key.

 

There was a polite cough.

 

Turning to look, Scanlan found Edym standing behind him, holding a key out towards him. Scanlan froze with his hands in his pockets, before dropping them by his side and leaning back against his door, suspiciously eyeing the young man opposite him.

 

“So, I guess I’m not the thieving one around here after all.” He said, his voice careful.

 

Edym arched an eyebrow. “You dropped it.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Scanlan answered, not convinced. He stepped forward and snatched the key from Edym’s hand. The Half-elf crossed his arms, cocking his head in amusement.

 

“Look, Scanlan-” He started, but Scanlan interrupted;

 

“Here it comes.” He said, turning towards the door.

 

“- I just wanted to apologize.” Edym finished, and Scanlan halted, the key halfway in the lock.

 

“Oh.”

 

“I think I might have misspoken before.” Edym started, sounding slightly unsure of himself. “I didn’t mean to imply that this place wasn’t meant for someone like you, but that… you don’t really belong in a place like this.”

 

“If you’re trying to apologize, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” Scanlan muttered.

 

Edym smiled regretfully, an expression that made him look suddenly young. “All I’m saying is… you can aim for more than just this tavern, Scanlan. There’s a whole world out there.”

 

“Oh, I’m well aware! ”Scanlan replied, still not budging. “But sometimes I wonder whether you are.”

 

 _A restless soul_ , he thought.

 

“You’ve been stuck here too long, you can only see the bad.”

 

“And you can only see the good.” Edym shot back, his voice rising slightly. “I want to show you how-”

 

“I don’t need your help, Edym.” Scanlan cut him off. Like hell he was going to get lectured to by a rich elf boy who didn’t understand the value of having a roof over your head. He unlocked his door and stepped inside. “But if you hate this place so bad, nothing is stopping you from leaving.”

 

Edym’s face fell. “You misunderstand.”

 

Scanlan shook his head, trying to gauge the other man. “I think I understand plenty.”

 

The Half-elf was silent, frowning at him. A moment passed.

 

Scanlan sighed and closed the door.

 

\---

 

That night he dreamt of far off places. Dark ships sailing in the night, and a land filled with sun and sands.

 

\---

 

The next day was dark and dreary, clouds blocking out the sunlight and casting the whole city in a semi-darkness. But the rain stayed away and - considering his low funds - Scanlan was eager to try out his newly discovered spot. The morning started off well, and he soon found his money pouch clinking with coins. During lunch hour he took a brief break to buy a hot sausage bun from a vendor down the street from him.

 

Holding the wrapped bun in both hands, the heat of it managed to warm his hands as he walked back towards his spot. Drawing near still chewing his lunch, he froze when he noticed two boys standing where he had set up shop. They wore ragged, green coats and chequered caps.

 

Aron’s boys.

 

He swallowed, eyes darting to the streets left and right of him. It didn’t seem like they had spotted him yet, so he decided a hasty retreat would serve in his best interest. He turned around and immediately bounced into a large boy standing directly behind him. Scanlan fell back, dropping his lunch as he tried to catch himself.

 

“Hey Scanlan.” The boy before him rumbled. He was tall, had a mess of black hair and wore the same chequered cap as the other two kids. Scanlan tried to scramble to his feet, but was instead pulled up by his vest. The kid was at least thrice his size.

 

“Word reached us you’ve been living in that fancy little tavern you like so much.” The boy said, grinning. He had at least two teeth missing. Scanlan clutched at the boy’s fingers, trying to release himself from the strong grip.

 

“Imagine our surprise, seeing as last time we ran into you, you didn’t have the money to pay us.”

 

Scanlan struggled with the boy’s grip, his vest choking him. “Yes, well. Sometimes people get unexpectedly lucky, Aron.” He offered, grimacing.

 

“Nahh,” Aron said, “You having that kind of money can only mean one of two things. Either you’ve been stealing, or…” He waved his left arm in a slow, wide arc, gesturing towards the buildings surrounding them. “You’ve been busking on  _my_ turf.”

 

Scanlan watched as the kid plucked his coin purse from his belt. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Aron held the gnome closer to his face and weighed the purse in his other hand, his grin widening. “That’s a lot of coin, my boy.”

 

A sudden wave of anger rolled over Scanlan. Being this close to the taller boy’s face, instinct overtook him. As he flashed Aron a vicious smile, he leaned back into the kid’s grip and kicked forward with both of his feet.

 

“I’m not your boy, dillweed!” He shouted.

 

To his satisfaction, he could feel something crunch underneath his boots. Aron cried out in anger, his grip on Scanlan’s vest lessening. Scanlan pried of the remaining fingers on his vest and managed to release himself. Falling back, the wind was knocked out of him when he made contact with the ground. His heart hammered in his chest, and he started crawling backwards. He briefly noticed the pedestrians around them giving them a wide berth, but before he had a chance to get up, a large hand reached out gripped his left arm like a vice. Scanlan was unceremoniously hoisted up in the air for a second time, but this time he could feel the bones in his arm being crushed.

 

“Last time I broke your stupid, little instrument. But this time I think I’ll break your pretty little face!” Aron bellowed. Before Scanlan could throw up his arms in protection, a large fist flew at him from the side and stars exploded inside his skull.

 

The world was spinning and pain radiated from the right side of Scanlan’s face. He barely registered rearing back for another hit. Panicked, Scanlan grabbed onto Aron’s left hand and bit down, hard. Hot blood welled up beneath his teeth. Howling in pain, Aron released him again, but this time Scanlan hit the ground running.

 

His right eye stinging like the nine hells, he stumbled away from his attacker half-blinded. There were throngs of people now, some having stopped to watch, and he ducked behind a couple of older women on the sidewalk. Head throbbing, his focus was on the alleyway he had spotted earlier, hoping he could at least use his size to an advantage and make his pursuers lose him among the crowd. Sprinting into the alley, his heart sank when he heard Aron’s shouting “Get him, you idiots!” not far behind. He might have miscalculated.

 

Vision swimming, heart pumping, Scanlan started a uncoordinated scramble up a pile of crates blocking the end of the alley. Perhaps if he got high enough, he could reach the roof of the building behind it, and then… well, he’d plan for his next move when he’d get there.

As he heaved himself up the final crate, he felt someone grab his leg from behind. Blind panic setting in, he started kicking back to prevent himself from getting dragged back down. Boot making contact, he heard someone grunt behind him and the hand released its grip.

 

Scanlan quickly got to his feet and turned around. Looking down he could see all three thugs below him now.  _Great, it’s a party._

Aron was looking at him with a furious look on his face; blood was streaming from a clearly broken nose, and his hand had a nasty bite mark. One of his lackies was already trying to climb back up the crates, having partially fallen down due to Scanlan’s struggle.

 

A slow, vicious grin appeared on Aron’s face as he watched Scanlan’s panicked look. “Give it up, gnome. If you make us come get you, things won’t be pretty.”

 

As he saw Aron’s shit-eating grin, a sudden hot rage filled Scanlan’s chest. He couldn’t stand the guy, or his stupid face. He heaved himself up tall, a surge of adrenaline spreading through his body. It was like a well of electricity building up inside of him, making his fingers tingle with nervous energy. He pointed down at the thugs below and took a deep breath.

 

“Listen up,  _assholes._ Don’t even think of climbing up here. If any of you lay a finger on me, a broken nose will be the least of your problems. The city guard will need help scraping your ugly mugs of the street, because when I climb down these crates, I’m personally going to kill every last motherfucking one of you!” Scanlan yelled, his voice vibrating with pent up rage. As he heard his words bounce back to him, he scrunched his eyes shut, his head dizzying with pain and anger. His voice seemed impossibly loud to him in that moment, reverberating through the alleyway like a thousand shouts - but maybe that was just a concussion speaking.

 

When finally the echoes died down, he expected laughter. But silence followed.

 

He carefully opened up his left eye. Through a blurry haze, he could only just make out the retreating backs of all three thugs as they rounded the corner at the other end of the alley.

 

Hesitating, Scanlan just stood there. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do now. Slowly, his knees buckled underneath him and he sat down on the crate in a confused daze. Seconds passed.

 

“Wow.” Said a female voice above him, and he recognized it as Mouse. Somehow, he was not surprised. He realized she had just witnessed him cuss out Aron and his gang. An amused smile flickered across his face.

 

The young girl carefully emerged from behind a chimney up on the roof and looked down at the gnome from above. “I mean, wow!”

 

“...Yeah.” He replied slowly, staring down at his hands. Sitting there, his body felt tingly and heavy, like he expended all his energy on that one final, rage-fuelled tirade. Or maybe it was just all the adrenaline leaving him.

 

“You really sent them running.” Mouse said, crouching down near the gutter directly above him.  

 

“I guess so.” Scanlan said, rubbing his aching right eye, trying to clear his vision. He unsteadily got back to his feet.

 

“They’ll probably be back, though.”

 

He looked up the gutter above him, judging the distance. He was in no hurry to climb down and follow Aron and his goons out of the alley, so he had to think of alternative exits. He flexed his fingers, bent his knees, reached up and... jumped. His hands found purchase on the slimy edges of the gutter, but his feet scrambled uselessly against the rocky wall. A couple of seconds passed as he dangled.

 

He coughed politely.

 

“You want some help?” Mouse asked, watching him from the same spot, not having moved.

 

“That would be swell.”

 

\---

 

It was late. Very late. Scanlan didn’t know how late, and he didn’t care. He stumbled from the backstage bar, almost collapsing into the corridor. Steadying himself against the opposite wall, he noticed a portrait of a stern looking lady looking down at him. He pushed himself upright and waved a finger in her face.

 

“At least you don’t have to, eh... pay rent.” He slurred. He wished he didn’t have to pay rent either. That would make his life a whole lot easier.

 

“Scanlan?”

 

He whipped around. It was Edym. He was wearing a long woollen coat, and had his lute slung over his shoulder, like he had just come from outside. Or was leaving. Scanlan noticed the Half-elf was frowning at him.

 

“Hey, Elf boy.” Scanlan grinned. Then he hesitated. “Wait, I’m still annoyed at you.”

 

“You’re drunk.” It wasn’t a question, but Edym’s voice wasn’t admonishing either.

 

Scanlan twirled around, waving at the door he had just come from. “Well, you would be too if you had shown up for my goodbye party!” He laughed. When Edym’s eyebrow arched up, the gnome sighed. “Tonight’s the last night.”

 

He clumsily turned out his empty pockets, to signify his lack of funds. “So, I guess you got your wish after all, no more Scanlan at the Silver Heron.”

 

Edym’s lips curled up in a half smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny, it turning out that way.”

 

Scanlan rolled his eyes at him. “I see you still can’t help being an asshole.”

 

He tried to push past the Half-elf, but Edym stepped out of the way unexpectedly, making Scanlan stumble. Edym shot out a hand to steady him, but Scanlan quickly brushed him off.

 

“I still don’t need your help.” He mumbled, feeling a weird mixture of annoyance and shame. But Edym wasn’t listening. He reached out again and Scanlan felt the Half-elf’s soft fingers on his face. He could see surprise flash in Edym’s eyes as he turned the gnome’s chin towards him. Scanlan realized the right side of his face must look a mess by now; he could feel the bruising underneath his eye, and the swollen, broken skin on his cheekbone.

 

“What happened?”

 

Scanlan slapped away Edym’s hand and turned his back towards him, staring down the corridor. He swayed in place, something preventing him from simply walking away.

 

“Like you said, Edym. There’s a whole world out there.” Scanlan laughed humourlessly. “But not everyone wants a _hoodlum_ like me in it.”

 

Edym was quiet, but Scanlan felt the Half-elf’s hand settle on his shoulder. “Let me help you.”

 

“I don’t-”

 

“You don’t need my help, I know. But… humour me.” Edym interjected. “Please.”

 

When Scanlan turned to cast a glance at him, he caught a concerned, apologetic look on the Half-elf’s face. He didn’t seem so arrogant then. Maybe just somebody who had trouble finding the right words to say.

 

Which was ironic, for a poet.

 

For some reason it convinced Scanlan.

 

“Well, please has always been the magic word.” He replied. A smile flickered across Edym’s face.

 

\--

 

Edym guided him up the stairs, no easy feat as Scanlan realized he had a little more to drink than he had intended. But it was his goodbye party, after all, and the other musicians had given him a proper farewell. They walked past his room, around a corner, and up another stairs Scanlan hadn’t explored before. This must be the attic, he thought. Edym left him standing in the narrow corridor as he opened a heavy, oak door at the end of the stairs.

 

The chamber beyond wasn’t large, although compared to Scanlan’s room everything seemed spacious. There were two long, leaded windows on the opposite wall, and a slanted roof on both sides of the room. There was a simple bed to the left of the door, with a large wooden chest at the end. A small, narrow desk was on the other side, with a shelf above it containing many different jars and pots. There were papers on the desk, and many kinds of maps and other drawings pinned to the wooden roof boards all around the room.

 

Scanlan stared at it all while he was guided to sit on the bed by Edym, who promptly turned around and lit a small oil lamp on the window sill. In the soft, orange glow, Scanlan could see the details of one of the drawings above the bed. A dragon, casting flames on a forest below. In the margins of the paper, there seemed to be a few lines of song verse scribbled in careful, black lettering;

 

_In peril the knight did careful tread_

_Bold Ayla, her end in stone was set_

_It came upon her like a veil of dread_

_With flaming tongues of gold and red_

 

Edym closed the door and then started rummaging through the jars on the shelf, looking for something.

 

“Did you draw these?” Scanlan asked in awe.

 

“No.” Edym replied. Walking towards the foot of the bed, clutching one of the jars, he cast a look at the page Scanlan was studying. “Well, some... Most are from books.”

 

The Half-elf knelt down and opened the chest, searching through its contents. He pulled out a piece of cloth and tore it in half. Scanlan was distracted, taking in some of the maps and other drawings hanging above him. It wasn’t what he had expected to find in Edym’s room.

 

“Are they Inspiration? For songs?”

 

“Well, yes. But it’s... more than that.”

 

 _A restless soul,_ Scanlan thought. There was more to Edym than met the eye.

 

Edym removed a lid of one of the jars and used his fingers to smear some of the white, thick ointment on the cloth he had prepared. He looked up and carefully put a hand on Scanlan’s chin, moving the gnome’s face towards the light. Scanlan wrinkled his nose as the strong herb-like smell wafted over him.

 

“Hold still.” Edym said, and Scanlan closed his eyes. The Half-elf started applying the salve around his injured eye, obviously careful about not pressing the bruised skin too hard. The substance was cold and oily, but felt surprisingly soothing against his skin. Scanlan frowned.

 

“Your hands are soft.”

 

Edym let out a soft laugh while continuing his work. “Thanks?”

 

Scanlan opened his left eye. “It’s not a compliment. It’s just… I had expected different from a lute player.”

 

Edym’s smile lingered on his face, eyebrows raised. “Hmm. What can I say, I’m blessed by my Elven heritage.”

 

Scanlan closed his eyes again, snorting. “That sounds like horseshit.”

 

“Ah, well.” Edym finished his work, wiping off the excess. “Keep that on there for the next hour or so, it will dry up but help with the swelling and bruising.” He turned around and Scanlan peeked at him. Edym seemed different in his room. Like he had let his guard down. He watched the Half-elf return the jar to the shelf, and smirked when the young man almost knocked over a few books on the desk. Maybe he was not the only one who had something to drink.  

 

Edym wiped off his hands on his coat, and sat down next to Scanlan on the bed. He looked around, seemingly a little lost on what to say.

 

“So, singing, lute-playing, reading, drawing... healing. Any other skills you are hiding?” Scanlan asked amused, mirroring Edym’s words from a few days before.

 

Edym looked up sharply. Noticing Scanlan’s mischievous grin, a careful smile appeared on his face. “What can I say? I’m a multi-layered onion of surprises.”  

  
They both laughed, and Scanlan was glad he had gone with him up to his room. It seemed an intimate sort of place, and he would never have known about it if he had let his pride take over. He felt like he might have misjudged Edym. There were indeed layers there. The realization that the Half-elf wrote most of his poetry surrounded by drawings of dragons and the Feywild made him strangely endearing.

 

Scanlan leaned back against the bed, eyes on the ceiling. Edym watched him read some of the texts on the pictures above. A comfortable silence settled between them. Scanlan closed his eyes, thoughts wandering.

 

“So… Where will you go?” He asked, breaking the quiet.

 

There was a brief pause.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m not stupid, Edym. I know you’re leaving.”

 

He opened his eyes and looked at the Half-elf sitting next to him. “That’s what you meant right? Before? About it being funny it working out this way. You meant our goodbyes coinciding.”

 

Edym eyed him carefully. “Yes.”

 

“Look, contrary to what I let on I don’t actually blame you.” Scanlan sighed. “All those things you said? They’re true.” He sat up and wrung his hands, staring at the dirt underneath his fingernails.

 

“This city doesn’t want me. So, if I could get out of here like you, I would too. But I wouldn’t last two seconds out there.”

 

Edym let out un unexpected laugh, and Scanlan gave him a quick, curious look. It was not the reaction he had expected.

 

“You would do a whole lot better than me.” Edym said, giving him a strange look. His eyes were soft.

 

Scanlan frowned, leaned forward and gestured at the bruised side of his face. “Look at this, Edym. I can’t even protect myself out on these streets. How can I last out there on the road?”

 

“Scanlan, I don’t know how to convey this but…” Edym sounded uncertain, hesitating. He licked his lips, then seemed to focus on Scanlan’s black eye. “First, tell me what happened.”

 

“I told you what happened.” Scanlan replied, raising an eyebrow. He felt like he was missing something.

 

“No, I mean, what really happened.” Edym insisted. Scanlan hesitated, but then decided to humour him.

 

“I got in a fight with a bunch of assholes. There’s this kid... He’s got an attitude problem.” He began, and he saw Edym’s eyebrows twitch.

 

“Sounds familiar.”

 

Scanlan laughed. “ _Not_ like me, asshole. He’s the kind that likes to intimidate people.” He shifted his weight, sinking back in a memory.

 

“He’s laid claim to one of the more affluent neighbourhoods, and he doesn’t like it when people try to earn an honest living on what he views as ‘his’ streets. So… he doesn’t like me.”

 

Edym grew quiet, but then asked; “Is he the one that destroyed your lute?”

 

“Yeah, like I said, a real dick.” Scanlan replied.

 

Edym nodded. “So, you got in a fight again. What happened next?”

 

“He punched me in the eye. I kicked him in the face and then I ran for my life.”

 

“You got away?” Edym asked, confused, like that was not how he expected the story to go.

 

“No... he and his friends came after me, cornered me in an alley and I… eh,” Scanlan hesitated, “Well, I shouted at them. Threatened them, actually. And they left me alone.”

 

“You… shouted at them, and they left?” An odd expression appeared on Edym’s face, a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

“I think they might have just thought I was more trouble than I was worth.”

 

“These were humans, though, right?” Edym asked, smiling. “They don’t sound like the sort to just run away from one measly gnome.”

 

“Well, who knows why they left,” Scanlan replied, growing more suspicious at Edym’s tone of voice. Like he was not understanding a joke. “Maybe they thought it was more fun to let me stew in my panic- What are you grinning at?”

 

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Edym said, and Scanlan felt a wave of annoyance flare up in him again. Or maybe it was all the alcohol.

 

“You’re being an asshole again.” He pointed out and stood up, frustrated. The room started spinning and he grabbed for Edym’s shoulder. The Half-elf reached out and helped steady him.

 

Edym shook his head. “Gods, Scanlan. I might be an asshole, but you’re a damn idiot.”

 

“Well, thanks, I guess.” Scanlan said, releasing his grip from Edym’s shoulder, confused. “Very enlightening.”

 

Before he could move away, Edym held onto his shoulders, soft green eyes focusing intently on his. “Wait… I’m about to tell you something that’s going to change your life.”

 

There was a pause, and Scanlan could see a sudden hesitation appear on Edym’s face. The Half-elf looked away, frowning.

 

“Well, shit.”

 

“Wha-”

 

The next question was erased from Scanlan’s mind when Edym suddenly leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Scanlan blinked, the sudden move blindsiding him. He felt his cheeks flush with heat, his eye throbbing. His fingers pressed against Edym’s chest, he could feel the soft thrum of the Half-elf’s heart below the fabric of his shirt. Holding his breath, Scanlan closed his eyes, his world spinning to a single point. Soft lips. The taste of mulled wine.

 

When Edym finally pulled back, Scanlan slowly opened his eyes and just stared. The Half-elf gave him an embarrassed, soft smile.  

 

“Sorry, that’s not actually what I wanted to say. Although... I  _have_ been wanting to do that.”

 

“Uh…” Scanlan’s brain drew a blank. The kiss had been unexpected. But… nice.

 

Only inches from each other, Edym grinned at him, his hot breath on the Scanlan’s face. It smelled sweet. “The thing I wanted to say, Scanlan… is you’re  _magic.”_ Edym whispered excitedly. “Your music. Your words. They have power you don’t even understand.”

 

A confused daze settled on Scanlan as he carefully sat back down. A few moments passed, and Edym’s expression changed to one of worry.

 

“Scanlan? I hope I’ve not upset you.”

 

“You mean, like… metaphorically, right?” Scanlan said, staring at Edym. “I mean, with that kiss and all...”

 

Edym laughed at him. “No, you idiot! You’re magic! Literally!”

 

Scanlan just fell in a deeper confusion.

 

“Your music,” Edym began, searching Scanlan’s face for comprehension, “it casts spells on people. You didn’t just  _threaten_ those bullies, you scared the ever-living hell out of them by enchanting their minds.”

Edym’s voice had a soft awe to it, which would have sounded endearing at any other moment. But right now, Scanlan was just trying to find the logic in what Edym was telling him.

 

The Half-elf watched him closely. “You’ve been doing it for a while.”

 

Scanlan frowned. He probably had too much to drink for this. Hesitating, he finally only uttered a single word; “Spells?”

 

“Yes.” Edym smiled, “You must have an extraordinary strong magic ability if you’ve been casting them without a spell focus. For someone like you it’s usually a musical instrument. That’s how I first noticed it.” He had a mischievous look on his face. “I mean, granted, you’re charming when you sing. But when you played my lute, it was… something else.”

 

“When you mean someone like me…?” Scanlan said, coming to his senses.

 

Magic. _Him?_ It seemed like a strange dream.

 

“A bard. And I don’t mean like those you see play down in the tavern either.” Edym gripped Scanlan’s hands. “A proper bard, like the books talk about.”

 

Holding hands, Scanlan could feel the heat radiating from Edym’s soft fingers. He watched the awe in the Half-elf’s eyes. A slow, wicked smile appeared on Scanlan’s face.

 

“It’s kinda cute how excited you get about all this book and magic stuff.”

 

Edym shook his head with a soft smile. “The point is, you don’t have to be afraid of anything out there, Scanlan.” He cast the gnome a fond look. “I mean, with some-”

 

Edym was cut off when Scanlan leaned forward and kissed him again. If felt like the right thing to do.

 

If only for tonight.

 

\---

 

That night he dreamt of a great battle above the cradle of creation, a city full of shouting people, and a brave Half-elf boy going on a journey into the unexplored.

 

\---

 

Scanlan awoke in his room. The bright sun shone through the small window above his footboard, light hitting his eyes. As consciousness crept up on him, the last remnants of a dream left a bittersweet memory. He stared up at the ceiling above, empty of any drawings. When he turned on his side, he noticed the well-worn, intricately carved lute leaning against the wall next to his door.

 

He closed his eyes, unexpectedly moved by the sight.

 

When he got up later, he found Edym gone. He had already known. Nobody could tell him where the Half-elf went. None of the musicians knew. He had a restless soul, they told him.

 

You couldn’t expect someone like that to stick around.

 

But he found a note inside the lute, later, while playing it for the first time in a field of celandines just outside the city gates.

 

When he opened it, it showed lines in carefully written ink, like a verse to a song:

 

_Into the unknown the bard did careful tread_

_Bold Scanlan’s faith no longer set_

_Though many words are left unsaid_

_I know of him one day books be read_

 

END

 


End file.
